Trigger
by Jemppy
Summary: Dylan knew that there were several triggers for past memories and depending on if they were sad or not, he knew when to avoid them. DylanMarco One-shot.


**AN: **Here is a break from _The Reason. _This just kind of popped into my head and I had to write it. So I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimers:** I don't own Degrassi: TNG

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**Trigger**

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It is funny, some of things you can remember. Sometimes a scent will  
trigger some inane memory that can make you smile, a song lyric can  
make you cry as you drive, or even a familiar setting can have  
whispered conversations.

Memories aren't bad things; they can be a great thought that suddenly  
uplifts you in the middle of math class and leaves you grinning like a  
dork throughout the day. Though they do have the drawback, if they are  
painful memories, to leave you sad and depressed even when you are at  
the happiest of places.

Dylan knew that there were several triggers for past memories and  
depending on if they were sad or not, he knew when to avoid them.

The couch in his living room didn't remember each individual make-out  
session he had ever had there, but it did always seem to recall the night  
when they had watched a scary movie together, and to his chagrin, it was  
not Marco to be scared at the slightest movement, but he himself. Marco  
had laughed himself into hysterics when the movie was over and Dylan  
had gone into a long diatribe about the things in the movie that he didn't  
like, only to peter out in the end to admit:

_"And by didn't like, I mean freaked me out."_

The kitchen would forever remind him of the time that Paige had been  
stunned into spoon dropping silence when he and Marco had wandered  
downstairs for breakfast, from one of the nights that Marco had stayed  
the night. The look on her face as she dropped her spoon into her Lucky  
Charms was so priceless, that Dylan could be sitting at that kitchen  
table, eating his food, and still randomly burst out in laughter (causing  
every family member present to stare in wonder)

Climbing up the stairs always brought back the memory of when Marco  
confessed that as a child he would race his brother down their stairs in  
sleeping bags. That confession had prompted the spontaneous retrieval  
of moth-eaten sleeping bags and the experiment of whether or not two  
teenaged boys can sled down the stairs like two little children could.

Dylan had more bruises from that race than from any hockey related incident.

Walking down the hallway during the middle of the night, however,  
wouldn't bring the happy memories. He would remember the times when  
he would get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and pass  
by Paige's room and hear her soft crying. It had been in the aftermath of  
her date-rape and those nights were the most helpless moments of his  
entire life.

He no longer used the upstairs bathroom if he had to go in the middle of  
the night.

In his room, there was a entire batch of remembered moments that he  
would hold on to.

His bed, for instance. It conjured, not the memory one would think of,  
but of the time when he and Marco were just lounging around one lazy  
afternoon when suddenly Marco burst out laughing.

_"What?"_ he had asked.

_"Your cat. She just stretched and rolled right off your bed!"_

There was also that time, when he had just changed for bed when there  
came a knocking on his window. He had opened it up only to reveal  
Marco, clinging to the tree that he had apparently just scaled, grinning.

_"Surprised?"_

Dylan would still look to the window before he'd go to bed each night,  
just hoping.

The bookcase reminded him of when he and Marco built it together in a  
fit of macho-ness and the plain need to use some power tools. The  
screws still stuck out and the whole thing listed to the left.

Maybe all these little moments of the past were the reasons why packing  
up and moving was taking so long. Each object he'd get ready to pack,  
he'd stop and remember something about it. His room was very big, lots  
of stuff. Lots of memories.

As he sat on the empty floor of the very empty room, he felt like  
nostalgia was a physical weight in the pit of his stomach. So much had  
happened in this room, in this house.

Now he was moving out. To college.

The door opened and Marco peeked his head inside. "Dyl'? Are you  
ready?"

He nodded and twisted to his feet. Closing his door to his old room, he  
wrapped his arm around the other boy. "Yeah, I'm ready now."

It wasn't as if he was moving a million miles away. And besides, there  
was plenty of time to make memories in his new apartment anyways.


End file.
